


The Ouroboros Dilemma

by tyuoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 08:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyuoi/pseuds/tyuoi
Summary: When Draco replaces his father’s place in the Dark Lord’s army, he expects to be tasked with murder, not the impossible charge of befriending the Boy Who Lived.





	The Ouroboros Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this is surprisingly my first drarry fic even tho i’ve always been a fan and im a huge potterhead??  
> 2\. for anyone who worried over not seeing certain characters like Ron or Hermione in the tags, don’t worry, it doesn’t mean they never show up. it just means they don’t interact much with Draco  
> 3\. enjoy!

Somewhere, in the streets, someone is whistling a familiar tune. Draco tilts his head, listening for a long moment before the words come to him. An old English folk song, he remembers.

_And I've robbed both great and small,_

  
_And my neck shall pay for all_

_When I die, when I die_

  
_And my neck shall pay for all when I die._

The last of the summer is bending to autumn's will, sending a chill breeze whispering through Draco’s cloak. He shivers and steps into Knockturn Alley, keeping close to the dark figure in front of him. The figure stops and looks from side to side, as if checking its surroundings for any witnesses.

He watches as his mother pulls the hood of her cloak closer to her face and steps closer to him. She glances at her son and holds her gloved hand out, waiting.

Draco takes her hand and holds his breath; there was a heavy darkness and he was being pressed from all directions; then with a loud pop they Apparated into the Manor’s living room.

Draco felt his knees wobble a bit and his throat tingle with nausea; he still wasn’t used to the sensation Apparition brought along, though he presumed he should get used to it for when his test the following year.

His mother leaves the room without a word to him; he assumes she’ll be back soon, so he waits patiently by the fireplace, its flames casting patterns of light and shadow over his face.

Draco looks up from the fire to peer into his own eyes. The family portrait leaves an unsettling feeling in his stomach. It shows his mother and father standing behind him, each with a hand placed on his shoulder. He was ten at the time, it had been made shortly before he had left for Hogwarts.

The younger version of himself stares at him with such overbearing confidence that it sends tingles up his spine. He wonders if his younger self would wear the same smug expression if he were here now.

Draco tries not to look at his father. He tried not to think of his father’s prison cell in Azkaban or the dementors. His mouth sours; if it weren’t for Potter, his father would be home and his mother wouldn’t resemble a shell of herself, withdrawn and jittery.

She enters the room then and he turns to face her. Draco can’t quite read her expression, though he’s certain whatever she’s thinking is not pleasant.

“Draco, come to the parlour. We have company.”

The way her lips curl around the word company, straightens his spine, and he knows exactly who he will find in his family’s parlour.

The air is colder when he walks in, like death itself had stepped in and he supposes that’s close enough to the truth. It seemed that the whole council had gathered. Even Severus sat patiently next to the Dark Lord.

“Draco.”

Draco forces his eyes to meet Voldemort’s. He feels his skin crawl, being pinned under that gaze.

“We were just speaking of you.”

Draco stares back into the face of the man that held the lives of so many, including Draco’s family and his own, in his palm. He was whiter than a skull, almost translucent, with wide, livid scarlet eyes, and a nose that was as flat as a snake’s, with slits for nostrils.

Draco forces his eyes away, his stomach curdling with fear and something akin to revulsion.

“My lord,” he mumbles in salutation and fumbles over to the seat between his mother and his aunt.

  
The room felt ominous, the members silent. His aunt wore a tittering smile and his mother, a cold somber expression. She would not meet his eye, her dull gaze trained at the obsidian table.

It was enough to tell him that something had been said before he had arrived, something terrible, something concerning him.

 

* * *

 

“Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”

Draco rather hates coming to Madam Malkin’s. The woman always manages to stick him while she acquires his measurements and it always left Draco wondering if she did so out of spite—everyone and their mother by now had caught word of Lucius’ imprisonment—or if she was simply shite at her job. Not to mention that he couldn’t step foot in the shop without recalling the look of disdain upon Harry Potter’s face as he rejected Draco’s hand.

Draco couldn’t help but sneer at the thought, his pointed face contorting in a way his mother always chastised him for doing so.

He strides to the mirror to examine the handsome set of dark green robes he had been given. They were adorned with pins at his hem and sleeves that gleamed and twinkled in the light. His satisfaction, however, was cut short when his gaze fell upon the people reflected over his shoulder. Harry Potter and his entourage stood there, staring at his back with rather daft expressions on their faces.

Silver eyes narrow and he thinks he would like to open his mouth and spew out the foulest comment his mind could conjure up, but the words stopped promptly, disintegrating halfway up his throat along with the bile they had summoned. He swallows taughtly, his tongue feeling swollen and heavy in his mouth.

His mind filters quickly with images and the words of his deranged Aunt, the way she had tittered when delivering the news of his doom. He had been honored at first, excited even, but when the true nature of his task registered, his stomach had knotted uncomfortably. Similarly to how he felt now.

His gaze flickers away from the three to catch that of his mother. After a few tense moments, Narcissa Malfoy strides out from behind a clothes rack, and Draco thanks Salazar Slytherin himself for his mother’s ability to detect his distress.

“Mother, don’t you think we’d do better at Twilfitt’s or Tatting’s than this…” His words drawl to a stop, and he hopes that his mother will catch his meaning.

Narcissa’s gaze shifts from between her son and the three young wizards that stood near the entryway of the shop.

She exhales slightly. It was quite unpleasant seeing the 16 year old that sent her husband to Azkaban. “Well, if these robes aren’t to your liking, I don’t see why not.”

Draco nods at her curtly and pulls the robes over his head, disregarding them as they fell in a puddle at Madam Malkin’s feet. The woman seemed rather miffed at his discourtesy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about manners; he simply wanted to be free of the stiff air Potter brought.

His mother made for the door and he followed her suit, keeping his head high but his gaze focused on anything but the other three Hogwarts students.

“Malfoy,” Potter says quickly, and by the tone of his voice Draco could tell he was winding up to say something valiant and offensive.

Draco wills himself to not meet Potter’s gaze and instead demands his legs to take him out onto Diagon Alley. The air was brisk, a cold wave washing over him and soothing his nerves.

He shoots a nervous glance at his mother who was pointedly looking away, her face rigid. Draco could feel the disappointment rolling off her in tides.

He didn’t blame her. For how could he follow through with his simplest task of befriending Harry Potter, if he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him.

 

* * *

 

 

With amusement, Draco watches as Blaise fiercely fights the train door, forcing it into submission. But the door shot back in retaliation, knocking Blaise backwards and right into Greg’s lap. Upon realizing his predicament, Blaise quickly jumped off of Greg, spouting off about molestation.

Malfoy snickered at the scene and pressed up against the window.

“Well, Blaise if you swung that way why didn’t you just say so. I’m sure Greg would give it a go,” Pansy tittered and leaned against Draco.

Blaise’ fiery gaze shifted towards Pansy. “Sod off, Pans. You and Draco are the only fruits in this train car.”

Pansy’s expression turned sour and before she could reach for her wand to hex Zabini, the car door flew open.

Daphne stood there, skirt billowing and with a rather ridiculous smile adorning her small face. Millicent stood behind her, peering into the train cart curiously. “Now, what’s this I hear about fruits!”

Pansy’s face contorted angrily and she returned to glare at Blaise, having been reminded of her offense. Draco glanced at the two girls, ignoring the bickering that filled the cart, and casted a quick expansion charm on the seats.

Daphne shot him a grateful look before shuffling in next to Theo. Millicent took her seat next to Pansy, looking bored and annoyed with the noise.

“God you two bicker like old women,” Draco said tiredly, successfully catching the attention of his friends. He focused his eyes on Blaise. “What did Slughorn want?”

“Just to gather with some well-connected people,” he replied, still glowering at Pansy. “Not that he managed to find many.”

Draco frowned and pressed the topic further. “Who did he invite?”

“McLaggen the Gryffindor,” Blaise supplied.

“Oh, he’s quite handsome,” Daphne chimed in cheerfully.

“—some kid from Ravenclaw, Belby I think—”

“What a prat!” Pansy exclaimed.

“—and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl,” finished Blaise.

“He invited Potter?” Draco asked with a grim face.

“Well, I assume so, seeing that he was there,” Blaise replied indifferently.

Draco swallowed the knot in his throat. “Well, I suppose Slughorn would be keen to get a look at our Precious Potter. Why that Weasley girl though?”

Blaise shrugged.

“A lot of boys like her,” Daphne said, eyeing Blaise. “I’m surprised you haven’t had a go at her.”

Blaise sneered. “Not everyone jumps at the opportunity to fall into bed with every walking organism, Greengrass. Some of us have taste.”

Daphne tittered amusedly and made a gesture with her hand that resembled that of an angry cat.

“Besides,” Blaise added coldly. “She was clinging to Potter like a lifeline, poor thing.”

Draco flinched at the thought and willed his anxiety into submission. Honestly, it was rather ridiculous that only his name could send shivers down Draco’s spine.

“Don’t know how much Potter will service Slughorn being in his ridiculous little club. He’s rubbish at potions,” Draco mumbled under his breath.

“Oh, quit thinking about Potter, before you start drooling. It's rather unattractive,” Millicent said in a bored tone, having heard Draco’s murmurings.

Draco had to hold himself back from hitting her with something. “Speak again Bullers and I’ll make sure your cat never wakes up from its trip to Hogwarts.”

Millicent gasped in astonishment and disdain. “Don’t your dare touch Crunchy!”

“Well keep that in mind next time you open your big fat—”

Pansy elbowed him roughly in the side and fixed him a warning glare before turning to Millicent. “You brought your cat?”

“Of course I brought her,” Millicent replied dramatically. “She’s my baby.”

Blaise grimaced at her word choice, but Draco thought it had more to do with the fact that it was Millicent speaking. “Bullers don’t make me sick.”

Theo smiled for a moment before it wiped off his face, probably in fear of Millicent catching sight of it. He returned to the book he was reading, quiet to himself like he usually was.

“Millie,” Daphne piped up. “If I find any cat hair on my things this year I will allow Draco to follow up on his promise.”

Millicent looked at the other girl snidely. “Crunchy is a lady. She knows better than to go through people’s things.”

“She must take after her mother,” Blaise said sarcastically.

“Zabini,” Millicent threatened, her eyes bulging as she reached over an uncomfortable Theo in her attempt to strangle Blaise.

Greg sighed audibly. “Can we ever have one train ride without someone threatening murder?”

“Well that’s not very Slytherin of you,” Pansy said. “Someone might even mistake you as a Hufflepuff!”

Greg’s face contorted with disgust but he did not take Pansy’s bait.

“Not that I don’t find this entertaining and all,” Draco spoke up. “But I can see Hogwarts. We better get our robes on.”

Greg was the first to get up, reaching up for his trunk. As it swung down, Draco could’ve sworn he heard a gasp of pain. No one else seemed to have caught it, though Draco continued to glare at the luggage rack.

He reluctantly looked away to pull his robes on like the others, lock his trunk and as the train slowed to a jerky crawl, he fastened a thick new traveling cloak around his neck.

The corridor swelled quickly with students and with a final lurch, the train came to a complete stop. Daphne was the first to reach the door and she opened it softly, seemingly annoyed with the crowd of underclassmen. The rest of the group followed her, save for Pansy who was waiting for him, with a suspicious look on her face.

“You go on,” Draco reassured her. “I just want to check something.”

Draco waited for her to leave and when most of the people had filed out onto the platform, he moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds.

With his hand on his wand he quickly turned, exclaiming “Petrificus Totalus!”

As though in slow motion, an instantly paralyzed body toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Draco‘s feet. What Draco now detected as an invisibility cloak, which could only belong to one absurd Gryffindor, was now trapped beneath the person revealing his whole body, save for his legs which were curled into a cramped kneeling position.

Draco stood wearily by the door, wand still drawn, still quite rattled and not entirely trusting what his eyes were currently telling him. He peered down at the paralyzed—and quite pathetic, might he add—Harry Potter.

“Why were you spying on us?” Draco demanded, unable to keep his growing anger out of his voice. It took Draco a few moments of dull silence to realize that Potter was not going to reply anytime soon, seeing that he was completely paralyzed, tongue and all.

Muttering curses under his breath, he waved his wand. It flashed a brilliant red light and in an instance Potter was able to move again. He stumbled stupidly up off his knees, eyes frantically searching for his wand and then narrowing into a heated glare once he realized it was in Draco’s hand.

“Why were you spying on us?” Dreco repeated himself.

Potter’s glare shifted to Draco’s face and his hands were now firm fists, looking as if they desperately wanted to punch Draco. He’d like to see him try.

“Does it matter?” Potter spat defiantly.

Draco felt a familiar sensation boil in his stomach and he was sure his face was flushed an ugly red by now. “Cut the bullshit, will you Potter? Right now you only have two options, seeing as I’m the one currently with two wands.”

Draco willed his face into a stern expression. “Either you answer me truthfully and we return on our merry, separate, ways or you return to that paralyzed state I’m sure you quite enjoyed.”

Potter stared at him with what Draco could only express as pure hatred and for a moment he sincerely thought the git would ask for the second option. “I didn’t mean to,” he said matter of factly.

Draco looked at him disbelievingly. Potter may be the Boy Who Lived but he certainly wasn’t the Boy Who Knew How to Lie. “You didn’t mean to sneak onto the luggage rack above us with your Invisibility Cloak, for the entire train ride?”

Potter flinched at Draco’s tone and Draco was satisfied that Potter had the humility to at least look ashamed.

Draco thought about hexing him. He thought about all the things he could do with a wandless Harry Potter in an empty train. He thought better of it, a voice reminding him of his task and how hexing the boy was exactly opposite to it.

Draco sighed audibly and withdrew his wand, pocketing it even though his hand itched to have it back.

“Blimey, Potter,” he said exasperated. “If you’re so eager to listen in on Slytherin conversations, just ask next time.”

Potter wore a rather amusing expression of shock and confusion, like he was expecting much worse repercussions.

Reluctantly, Draco held out Potter’s wand. Potter looked at his palm suspiciously, but carefully reached out to take it. His fingers brushed Draco’s and Draco had to suppress the urge to pull back in revulsion. He did not look at the other boy again before turning around, anxious to leave.

“Malfoy!”

Draco caught Potter’s gaze hesitantly. Potter stood there, bashful and gripping his wand awkwardly.

“Thanks,” he said low, as if it pained him to do so.

Draco kept his gaze for a few moments before promptly fleeing the train.

When he stepped out onto the platform he had a strong urge to scream in frustration. He allowed himself a few minutes to calm his nerves. Frowning, he knew he couldn’t let himself get so riled up each time he spoke to Potter if he intended to succeed.

Really, he thought to himself, this was bigger than his pitiful rivalry with Harry Potter.

 

* * *

 

“Where’d you run off to?”

Draco blinked, brain still fuzzy with hapless thoughts. He forced himself to focus on the person speaking to him, something that had become increasingly difficult these days.

Daphne was peering at him, her slender eyebrow raised and her rose lips pressed into a curious smile.

“Had things to take care of.” It was a poor excuse. Anyone with half a brain could see as much, but Daphne did him the favor of letting it slide.

“Well,” she said as she flicked her dark hair over her shoulder. “You didn’t miss much. Only the preachings of house unity and all that mumbo-jumbo.”

Draco’s eyes slid off her face to the front of the Great Hall, where first years were being sorted. There was a boy there, squirming nervously, eyes staring up at the sentient hat. Draco hadn’t caught his name, not that he cared to anyway. He remembered what it had been like to be in that boy’s position; he had been almost laughably confident in his placing and he had to have been. He could only imagine the look of horror on his father’s face had he been placed in any house other than Slytherin. He wondered what his parents would have done if he had been placed into–Gryffindor or, Merlin have mercy on him, Hufflepuff. The thought brought a ludicrous smile to his face. At least Ravenclaw were respectable folk, though he wasn’t sure how well he’d get on with Loony Lovegood.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Draco watched as the boy’s face erupted into glee and wondered if the boy would wear the same expression had he been sorted into Slytherin. Probably not. All Gryffindors were pompous idiots anyway.

“Saw that one coming from a mile away,” Blaise commented in a bored tone.

“Oh, cheer up,” Pansy replied quickly. “You used to love the Sorting Ceremony! I remember—”

Blaise gave her a look of disbelief. “When was this?”

“—when that Hufflepuff, whatsername, tripped on the steps up and—”

“And her skirt flew up—”

“—all her bits on show! I thought Hufflepuffs were shy creatures! Oh! What about the year when—”

Draco tuned out the conversation and his eyes, against his own will, drifted towards the Gryffindor table. Potter’s usual seat was taken up by Longbottom, and Granger and Weasley were exchanging worried expressions. They looked rather at a loss without their Precious Potter and it brought Draco a glimmer of amusement.

He wondered where the git was. As far as Draco knew, Potter hadn’t left immediately after he had. He probably had been too dazed by Draco’s gesture of uncharacteristic generosity to remember he had to get off the train before it started up again. Perhaps, he was well on his way back to London by now, though that would make Draco’s task rather difficult and he was sure that for all of Potter’s stupidity, he wouldn’t miss out on another marvelous year at Hogwarts.

Draco repressed a groan though apparently not well enough for Pansy was looking at him with disguised concern. He ignored her gaze and looked instead at the Headmaster, who was directing his speech mostly to the first years. His stomach curdled at the sight of the wizard and he felt a compelling need to leave. And before he realized it, he was standing.

His friends looked up at him in confusion, some with concern.

“Gonna be sick,” he muttered, before quickly disappearing out of the Great Hall.

His legs carried him to the first floor and to the girl’s lavatory. He wasn’t sure why of all places his subconscious took him to a the girl’s bathroom.

Draco glanced, seeing that it was empty—everyone was in the Great Hall, with the exceptions of himself and possibly Potter—and paced to the sink.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and was met with a version of himself he hadn’t seen many times before. It was still very much him. Same white, blond carefully kept hair. Same sharp nose and high cheekbones. His eyes, however, were not the same. They were still silver of course, but they held unmistakable fear in both wells.

For the first time in the last month, he wondered to himself if he was even capable of the task he was given.

He remembered what his Aunt had said, the way her lips had curled the words.

 _“You silly, little boy,”_ she had cackled.

_“The Dark Lord is all knowing._

_And he knows that once you fail,_

_which you most definitely will miserably fail,_

_you will at least make it all the much easier to trick Harry Potter into his_

_**demise**.”_

He had been stupid enough to ask his mother why Voldemort would demand this of him if he and everyone else was so sure he would fail.

She had looked at him shocked and then quickly masked it with a smile. “ _Don’t listen to Bella. You know how she is,_ ” she had said. _“This is a great honor Draco and the Dark Lord has entrusted you with it, because he sees all the potential you have to be a great wizard,_ ” she had lied.

Draco let out a short scream of frustration and grip the sink, white-knuckled.

“Oh, dear, a crying boy! In the girl’s bathroom!”

Draco shot up at the voice but calmed considerably when he saw it was just the ghost notorious for haunting the girl’s bathroom.

“I’m not crying,” he corrected.

Moaning Myrtle hovered closer to him. “It seemed like you were.”

“I was not,” he gritted out angrily.

“Well, anyone who looks as sad as you has reason to cry. You can cry on my shoulder if you like!”

Draco left not long after that to retire to the Slytherin dorms. Most of his mates were already in by the time he arrived, and when they realized the mood he was in, they didn’t question his sudden disappearance. He slipped into bed without a word to them, though it was a long while until he successfully fell asleep.

As he lay there, twiddling with his family ring, he pondered why Moaning Myrtle had described him as sad, of all things.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack Hall is the name of the song in the beginning


End file.
